The Enthusiast’s Dilemma: Chasing the High or Keeping It Real?
Let’s be real, petrolheads: fighting the urge to bolt on every cool, aftermarket part is a battle we all face. That thrill of slapping on upgrades—aftermarket wheels, a loud exhaust, maybe a rear diffuser that screams “racecar”—is a dopamine hit straight to the brain. You tighten down the last bolt, step back, and bam—there’s your car, transformed, a rolling testament to your automotive passion. It’s instant gratification, a quick fix of pride that says, “I did this, and it’s sick.” We’ve all felt it: the hunt through online retailers, the unboxing, that first drive where everything feels tighter, louder, faster—even if it’s all in your head. Car guys live for the cycle: want it, buy it, install it, flex it. Each rush hooks you for the next, like a gambler chasing one more jackpot.
But here’s the catch—that high fades. Those coilovers you obsessed over last month? Just part of the car now. That exhaust note that had you grinning? Background noise after a week. Science backs it: dopamine floods in when you complete a task or snag a reward, and modifying your car nails both. it’s hedonic adaption at it best. Problem is, every spike sets you up for the crash, and the only way to feel it again is to dive back into the rabbit hole of aftermarket mods. It’s a drug, and we’re all junkies in the garage, chasing a fleeting thrill that leaves our wallets lighter and our cars sicker, or so we think.
So, what’s the point? Be honest with yourself. Being a true enthusiast isn’t about how many shiny parts you can slap on—it’s about self-control, knowing what actually matters. Skip the fluff and stick to the essentials: wheels, tires, brake pads, lines, fluid, and maybe a subtle drop if you’re feeling so inclined. That’s the gospel of modification. It’ll do more for your driving than any aero ever could. Instead of blowing cash to look fast, pour it into seat time and replacing the consumables you’re wearing out—tires, pads, fluid—faster than your buddy’s excuses for missing a track day. Your car doesn’t need a midlife crisis makeover; it needs a driver who’s dialed in.
Spend that time and money truly enjoying your car—use it, abuse it, drive it hard on the road or the track. Sure, if you’ve got wads of cash, you can afford to have it all. But there’s nothing lamer than rolling up to a track day with a car that looks like it rolled off the Attack Tsukuba grid, only to admit your experience tops out at “canyon carving.” No shade if you’re starting there—we all did—but don’t let the car outshine the driver. Your “driver mod”—that’s you, the awkward human behind the wheel—will thank you. Every lap, every corner, every brake stomp builds you into something better. Stay frugal, stay focused, and one day, you’ll hit a skill level where big wings, proper aero, and a stripped-out race car aren’t just flashy—they’re earned necessities.
An Overly Saturated Market:
However, I’ll admit it’s getting harder to keep temptations at bay. The automotive world has descended into a glorious chaos of pint-sized enthusiast brands offering affordable aero, sprouting like weeds after a rainstorm! It’s hilariously impossible to resist the siren call of slapping yet another sleek, aerodynamic carbon fiber gewgaw onto your poor, unsuspecting daily driver. We, the self-proclaimed ‘enthusiasts,’ harbor a dirty little secret: an insatiable lust to transform our grocery-getters into snarling, race-car doppelgängers—because nothing screams ‘I’m practical’ like a giant carbon-fiber spoiler on a 2023 BRZ.
And lo, with the great democratization—or, shall we say, demo-tinsel-ization—of technology, every Tom, Dick, and Harry with a computer and a dream can now get their eager mitts on the tools and tech. They’re turning their petrol-soaked passions into profit. These entry-level tinkerers are popping up faster than you can say ‘aftermarket exhaust,’ launching backyard businesses or at least scrounging some extra coin to bankroll into their absurdly expensive obsession with car modification. Truly, it’s a golden age of unnecessary winglets and dubious bolt-on wings—may our bank accounts rest in peace!
From BMSpec to Epsilon+:
Take Epsilon+ Aerodynamics, the rebranded evolution of BMSpec, as a prime example of this madness. Originally a scrappy outfit founded by both enthusiast and engineer Brian Ma, BMSpec carved out a niche delivering affordable, track-tested aero solutions for Honda fanatics. Ma was the real deal—a hands-on tuner who shared his passion through detailed build logs, like his Honda S2000 resto-mod on S2KI, and the “Circuit Heart” FK7 Civic that turned heads on Speedhunters in 2019. His CFD-verified designs and grassroots testing at events like SpeedSF earned BMSpec a loyal following among track rats who valued function over flash. Forums like CivicX and Instagram posts (@bmspec) raved about the quality and affordability of their ABS plastic splitters and carbon-fiber wings, with one user calling the Circuit Heart car a “total riot to drive.” But it wasn’t all smooth sailing—BMSpec’s small size meant inconsistent stock, custom orders took forever, and Ma’s blunt rejection of “sponsorship” seekers on Facebook left some calling him unprofessional, even if they respected his no-nonsense attitude.
Fast forward to 2022, and BMSpec became Epsilon+ Aerodynamics under new management, signaling a shift from garage grit to a more polished operation. They’ve leaned into cutting-edge tech like 3D laser scanning to refine their products, and in March 2025, they’ll have discontinued the “legacy BMSpec splitters,” a symbolic middle finger to their DIY past. X posts from @epsilon_plus in 2024 still nod to BMSpec’s SpeedSF podiums, showing some fans remain nostalgic for the old days. But this rebrand raises a bigger question: in a market flooded with self-proclaimed “aerodynamicists,” who can you actually trust?
The Affordable Aero Boom: Genius Hustle or Glorified Cosplay?
Let’s get one thing straight: there’s nothing inherently wrong with chasing the entrepreneurial dream, especially when it means catering to price-conscious car enthusiasts with products that seem to deliver results. The automotive aftermarket is buzzing with this exact vibe right now—technology has unlocked the game, handing every gearhead with a laptop and a passion project the tools to ditch their 9-to-5 and launch a business. We’re talking CAD wizards, CFD tinkerers, and 3D-printing savants—bona fide engineers who know their way around airfoil design and MATLAB. It’s a golden age of garage startups, all promising affordable aerodynamics to turn your daily driver into a track monster. Sounds glorious, right? Well, hold your horsepower—there’s a catch.
The downside? These backyard visionaries, despite their technical chops, often lack the one thing that separates a hobbyist from a pro: experience. Years of data acquisition, real-world testing, and industry know-how don’t come with a SolidWorks license. Sure, they can churn out bolt-on wings and splitters that look slick in a CFD render, but slapping aero onto a car doesn’t automatically make it a podium contender. Too many of these “entrepreneurs” are banking on a simple equation: aero equals faster lap times. And they’re selling that dream to enthusiasts who see a wing, hear buzzwords like “downforce,” and assume they’re one step away from channeling Ayrton Senna.
Here’s the kicker: adding aero to a car that never had it will do something. Stick a plywood splitter on a Civic—yes, people were doing this before half these startups even had their drivers’ licenses—and you’ll feel a difference. Grip might improve, lap times might drop. Measurable? Sure. Optimal? Not even close. It’s a Band-Aid at best, papering over a glaring truth: no amount of carbon-fiber gewgaws can outrun a lack of driving skill. The enthusiasts bolting on these budget kits could see far better results if they spent less time shopping and more time mastering track fundamentals. Aero isn’t a cheat code—it’s a tool, and most don’t know how to wield it.
The Hype Machine: CFD and the Illusion of Legitimacy
So why does this market keep exploding? Simple: flashy marketing and a consumer base that’s too easily dazzled. These startups lean hard into colorful simulations and buzzwords—CFD! 3D scanning! Downforce numbers!—hoping you’ll see a swirling vortex on a screen and assume their $400 diffuser is the real deal. And yeah, it might work a little. But “a little” isn’t the revolution they’re selling. Without access to proper wind tunnels, extensive track data, or even a budget beyond their local road course’s entry fee, these companies are prototyping on a prayer. Two cars and a laptop don’t equal decades of R&D.
Look at the pioneers who’ve been at this forever—companies with the scars and stats to back up their claims. They’re not cheap for a reason. The old adage holds: “Cheap, fast, reliable—pick two.” Budget aero picks “cheap” and “fast,” leaving “reliable” in the dust. What you’re buying isn’t innovation; it’s an illusion of performance, a shortcut for enthusiasts who’d rather cosplay an F1 driver than actually understand how a splitter interacts with their suspension.
Buyer Beware: Demand More Than a Pretty Render
Consumers should be savvier. We’re not wrong to want quality control, reliability, or decent customer service—yet too many settle for a bargain and a promise. Worse, they don’t even need half this stuff. If your justification for a wing is “it was the most economical one” or “it looked cool in a render,” you’re missing the point. Aero should solve a problem, not just decorate your driveway. But these startups thrive on that gap—selling attainable dreams to Fast-and-Furious fans who think downforce is a status symbol, not a science.
Don’t get me wrong: the hustle is admirable. Turning passion into profit takes guts, and accessible tech has opened doors that were once bolted shut. But “accessible aero” shouldn’t exist as a category—it’s a contradiction. Real aerodynamics isn’t cheap or easy, and it’s not for everyone. Until these companies can offer more than a flashy simulation and a prayer, they’re just profiting off a trend, not building a legacy. So next time you’re tempted by that budget bolt-on, ask yourself: is this performance—or just a really good costume?
The Install:
Here is the blank canvas we are starting out with. Marlon’s 3,700 mile 2023 BRZ.
And here is what is included in the Epsilon+ wing package. You can also click HERE to visit the Epsilon+ website to see more specs on the wing.
- Wing element.
- Stands.
- End plates.
- Mounting brakets/hardware.
- 3D printed bracing.
I do however, love the look of that “carbon fiber motorsports wing element.” It’s optimized for weight prioritization—light as a feather, rocking a matte finish because it skips the clear coat to shave off every possible gram. That not only keeps it lean but also knocks the price down a touch, which is a win for anyone who’s not swimming in race-team cash. The catch? If you’re parking your car outside, you’d better get it clear-coated pronto—UV rays will chew through that unprotected carbon fiber faster than you can say “track day.” Race cars don’t sweat this stuff; with budgets that size, they’ll just swap out weathered wing elements like it’s no big deal—assuming they don’t get knocked off or mangled in some on-course contact first.
Let me drop a quick knowledge bomb so you don’t embarrass yourself at the track. A matte finish doesn’t mean it’s “dry carbon.” Don’t be that guy who rolls up with a car decked out like a WTAC wannabe, then misuses terms like “dry carbon” in front of the boyz. Talk about cringe.
You’ve probably heard “wet carbon fiber” and “dry carbon fiber” tossed around in gearhead chatter. Some assume it’s about the finish—wet for glossy, dry for matte. It’s an easy mistake; it sounds logical, but it’s dead wrong. The real difference lies in the lamination process that locks the carbon fiber into its polymer shell. “Wet” and “dry” aren’t about looks—they’re about how the stuff’s made. Stick with me, and I’ll break down the nitty-gritty of both so you can nod knowingly next time someone flexes their carbon fiber vocab.
The difference between “wet” and “dry” carbon fiber boils down to how the carbon fiber gets locked into its resin prison.
“Wet carbon fiber” earns its name from the hands-on, messy process: liquid resin gets brushed or sprayed onto the carbon fiber in a mold, a technique dubbed “wet lay-up.” Think of it like painting a canvas—except it’s carbon fiber, and the stakes are higher.
“Dry carbon fiber,” meanwhile, sounds fancy because it is. The carbon fiber comes pre-impregnated—“prepreg” in gearhead lingo—with dry, uncured resin, ready to be baked to perfection in an autoclave. No sloppy brushes here, just precision.
Wet vs. Dry: Which Wins?
So, if wet and dry carbon fiber come from different playbooks, does one outshine the other? Short answer: yes, dry takes the crown.
Dry carbon fiber’s the champ because it’s consistent—both in looks and guts. The prepreg process ensures the resin’s evenly distributed, with just the right amount hugging every strand of that carbon fabric. No guesswork, no blobs, just uniformity.
Wet carbon fiber? It’s a crapshoot. The wet lay-up method’s all over the place—too much resin here, not enough there, and the brush or spray gun doesn’t care about your feelings. You might end up with a piece that’s structurally sound but looks like a toddler applied it.
Oh, and let’s squash that myth from the jump: “wet” and “dry” don’t mean glossy or matte. That’s a finish thing, not a process thing. Whether it’s satin, matte, or glossy, any carbon fiber can wear it—depends on how the resin’s treated or if matting additives crash the party. So no, a matte wing doesn’t scream “dry carbon”—it just means someone skipped the shine.
Here we go, the last time this 3,700 mile BRZ will be virgin. I’m about to violate the hell out of this trunk.
Take one last look at the pristine-ness of it.
Open that trunk up it’s time to start rawdog drilling or so we thought. (foreshadowing, I made a big mistake)
Since there are no instructions included or, at the time, no downloadable instructions on their site. Our first stab at installing the wing was to grab the brackets from the kit and bolt them to the trunk using the two nuts that secure the trunk to its hinge. Then, we figured we’d use the four holes in the bracket as a reference to drill through the trunk. I just manually centered the small pilot drill bit and sent it all the way through the trunk. At the time, it made sense—logical, straightforward, done. Except it was completely wrong. If you’re reading this, take note: do not do it this way. The right method’s coming up soon, but I’m showing you this misstep first for transparency—and to hammer home how brutal it is to drill four perfectly aligned holes through a curved trunk with hidden layers of structural metal lurking beneath the surface. What looks simple on paper turns into a nightmare fast.
Here we go! it still hurts me to see this.
One of four pilot holes drilled.
Here goes number two!
And here you can see my massive mistake. You see, when drilling one of the holes, there are many different structural pieces that you are drilling through, and as you drill through, the pieces can throw off the trajectory of the drill bit. Not to mention the fact that the underside of the trunk has some sharp angles, which also cause the bit to walk, even if you use a punch to set a pilot mark.
At this moment, my only hope is that the final size of the hole is large enough to cover up the whoopsie dimple.
Here goes number three.
and lastly, hole number four.
Here it is all laid out; you can even see that we printed the “guide” from their site.
I had every necessary bit, all sharp and ready.
And then me taking that 15/32nds bit and drilling down from the topside to the bottom side using the first smaller holes as a pilot hole.
At this point, you can see that the trunk is uncreased. More on this later.
Here are the four holes all drilled out, and you can even see the layers of metal underneath.
Obviously, I’m going to clean up all that burring.
Marlon had originally brought over some step bits, which at first I was hesitant to use because they are a layman’s tool, but they ended up being a lifesaver, allowing us to better widen the holes with more precision than that of a sharp drill bit that catches more easily on the thin layers of metal.
Here’s Marlon watching me completely defile his prized possession.
Now, just a little more through the bottom to widen the holes.
“His intense concentration radiates power, as he pours his heart into flawlessly installing the wing.”
Having carefully drilled all four holes, we faced a crushing roadblock—Epsilon+ had sent wing stands that didn’t match the new V2 mounting brackets, completely halting all progress of the install and forcing us to postpone it until receiving the correct stands.
As you can see the holes on the stand don’t even get close to lining up to the holes on the mounting bracket.
Although the stands couldn’t be bolted to the trunk bracket, we installed the brackets anyway to speed up the process once we did receive the correct wing stands for the V2 trunk brackets.
After bolting the mounting bracket to the side we had just drilled, it was immediately clear something was off. While the bracket was aligned and straight, the holes I drilled were slightly too large. This became noticeable after the bracket was bolted to the trunk, as you’ll see later.
Before drilling the other side, we reconsidered our approach and decided to use the downloadable templates. Although we had printed these templates before starting, I initially chose not to use them, thinking the bracket holes would serve as a better guide—a decision that proved incorrect.
Below, you can see we’re now using the downloadable template. I used an automatic center punch tool to precisely mark each hole before drilling the small pilot holes.
As you can see, all four holes are precisely centered. Notably, we only drilled through the top layer at first.
Next, we bolted the bracket on. This time, instead of using the holes as a reference for a small pilot bit, we chose a bit that fit the holes snugly, using the bracket holes to guide the drill and prevent it from wandering or shifting while drilling through the trunks multiple layers.
The key here is to keep the drill angled perfectly perpendicular with the trunk lid, making a 90-degree angle. This meant the bit would go through the trunk with the correct trajectory and ensure the holes were perfectly in line, allowing the bracket on top of the trunk to perfectly center in the holes. You’ll likely need a second set of eyes to help ensure you stay perfectly perpendicular as you drill.
Again you can see how the bit we are using is the same size as the hole which allows for the bracket hole to keep the bit steady and true as it goes through.
Below is a closer view showing the drill bit size relative to the bracket hole. Take care to avoid letting the drill bit cut into the bracket, as this could widen the hole. This process is somewhat tedious but manageable with patience and slow drill speeds. While it’s inevitable that some paint on the mounting bracket will be shaved off, this isn’t a concern since the bracket is aluminum, won’t rust, and the damage will be hidden once the bolts are installed.
In the picture below you can see the two upper holes and how they are perfectly aligned using our new drilling method.
Here you can more easily see how there are at least three layers of trunk metal, and each one you drill through catches the bit and causes it to walk, so you have to pay very close attention to keeping the drill perfectly straight and level as you drill.
We then busted out the step bits to slightly widen the holes on top just to give us a slight bit more wiggle room to get the bracket through the top of the trunk. But don’t widen too much!
With those four holes drilled correctly, it was now time to move on to installing the supplied 3D-printed brace support thingy they included. Because their wings’ design placed the brackets on the most outward edge of the trunk, there isn’t really much strength there, so the downforce of the wing can cause the end of the trunk to deform or bend, which is why they engineered this 3D-printed brace.
you’ll first need to remove one of the bolts that secures the trunk bracket to the chassis. This requires a 12mm socket.
Then, you will need to remove the 10mm with the Phillips head.
Now the brace can go in, and you will only be reinstalling the 12mm bolt that secures the trunk hinge to the chassis. Be careful not to tighten the 12mm bolt too much, as you run the risk of splitting the plastic 3D-printed brace.
I just used a small 1/4-inch drive ratchet to ensure I didn’t put too much torque on the bolt that could have resulted in splitting the plastic brace.
Again, you will NOT be reinstalling the 10mm Phillips head bolt that was removed. Sorry, I guess they deemed it not necessary even though Subaru thought it was ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Ok, here’s what you’ve all been waiting for. The pictures of the messed-up side. See how that hole was just slightly too big, thanks to my sloppy drilling technique. I pride myself on always doing a perfect job, so needless to say, I was pretty disappointed in myself for this shoddy craftsmanship.
And on the side where we used the template there are no holes showing, but the bracket is about 1mm off compared to the other side.
Another issue is the wrinkle in the trunk towards the upper part of the mount. This was not caused by improper drilling, but rather a poorly designed bracket system. As the brackets bolt together and sandwich the trunk, they slightly distort the metal, causing it to wrinkle.
This was not a one-off scenario, no, we reached out to others via Instagram who had installed the wing and they had all said they experienced the same slight wrinkling.
Even on the other side, it is not as pronounced of a wrinkle, but you can still see it. I’m sure it will only get worse the more he drives and as the wing starts to experience high loads of downforce.
This is as far as we could make it because we didn’t have the correct wing stands that mounted to the V2 trunk brackets, so our day ended here without the satisfaction of completing the project, but rather with a big stench of failure.
Type R break!
As Marlon left that day, we were all defeated and disappointed. Marlon contacted Epsilon+ and they said they would send over the correct wind stands, which ended up taking another 10 days! The kicker is, they even wanted the ones that didn’t fit back. So not only were we inconvenienced by not having the correct parts to complete the initial install, Marlon also had to be inconvenienced again by repacking and mailing out the stands that weren’t compatible. At least Epsilon+ provided postage.
So, 10 days later, we were back at my garage and ready to complete the install. Wing stands bolted on in seconds.
Then the element can be fitted.
Something about the welds on the wing bracket just looks cheap. I mean, it’s probably the bird poop welds, but I guess #becauseRacecar, amirite.
It’s not that I think the welds will fail, it’s mainly because it’s a swan neck mounted wing and the wing mounts are a big focal point. This is also another great example of “affordable aero” and its shortcomings. Sure, it does function as it should, but it’s just a hard pill to swallow considering you’re spending nearly 2,000 dollars.
Now it’s time to slap on the giant end plates.
Let’s learn some more:
Endplates on a spoiler aren’t just there to look cool—they’re aerodynamic linchpins that dictate how effectively the spoiler manipulates airflow. To understand why, we need to unpack the physics of what a spoiler does and how endplates optimize it.
A spoiler’s primary job is generating downforce—negative lift—to press the car into the ground, boosting tire grip and cornering stability. It does this by accelerating air over its upper surface, dropping pressure above relative to below (Bernoulli’s principle in action), while often deflecting air upward to exploit Newton’s third law: air goes up, car gets pushed down. The catch? Without endplates, this system falls apart at the edges. Air flowing over the spoiler spills sideways, forming tip vortices—rotating low-pressure zones that bleed off that precious high-pressure air above the wing. This reduces the pressure differential, slashing downforce efficiency. Endplates step in as vertical barriers, containing the high-pressure zone and minimizing spillover. Computational Fluid Dynamics (CFD) models consistently show endplates can increase downforce by 15-30% on a well-designed wing, depending on aspect ratio and angle of attack. This is also a reason there are limits to endplate sizes in certain classes of racing.
The tech doesn’t stop there—they also tackle drag, the unavoidable trade-off of downforce. Those tip vortices don’t just sap lift; they churn up turbulent wake, hiking parasitic drag that slows you down. Endplates streamline the flow, reducing vortex size and intensity. Think of it as sharpening the spoiler’s “cut” through the air—less chaos, less resistance. Wind tunnel data (e.g., SAE studies on racecar wings) peg drag reduction at 5-15% with endplates, tightening the lift-to-drag ratio. For a track car hitting 120 mph, that’s not just theory—it’s seconds shaved off a lap.
Structurally, endplates add another layer. Spoilers flex under aerodynamic load, especially at high speeds—say, 100-150 mph in a time-attack setup. That flex can shift the angle of attack, destabilizing airflow and cutting performance. Endplates stiffen the assembly, acting like bookends to lock the spoiler’s shape. They also manage yaw effects: in crosswinds or cornering, uneven vortex shedding can yaw the car off-line. Endplates keep the aero forces symmetrical, so your rear end doesn’t twitch when you’re threading a chicane.
Dive into the numbers, and it’s stark. A typical motorsport wing sans endplates might hit a lift coefficient (C_L) of 1.2-1.5; add endplates, and you’re pushing 1.8-2.0, per NASA’s aero research. Drag coefficient (C_D) drops too—say, from 0.4 to 0.35. Translate that to a 300-hp car: you’re talking 50-100 pounds more downforce and a few mph less drag penalty. That’s grip and speed you can’t fake with a bolt-on.
Materials play a role too. Most endplates are carbon fiber or aluminum—light, stiff, and durable—because weight’s the enemy of aero efficiency. A poorly designed endplate (too small, wrong angle) can backfire, amplifying drag or stalling the wing, so CFD testing and wind tunnel validation are king. Look at F1 or GT3 cars: their endplates are sculpted via 3D scanning and MATLAB optimization, not guesswork.
No endplates? You’re stuck with a spoiler that’s half as effective—losing downforce to vortices, bleeding speed to drag, and wobbling under load. It’s the difference between a wing that plants you at 1.5 Gs through a sweeper and one that’s just a trunk ornament. Endplates don’t mess around—they’re the tech that makes spoilers work, period.
It sure does look exciting though, and it makes me grin from ear to ear looking at it.
But JFC, it’s huge.
Maybe a bit overkill, especially considering that he doesn’t even have a front splitter to balance it all out.
That wing element is WIDE! and in more ways than one.
The numbers shown on Epsilon+’s website under the Subaru specific wing claim some interestingly positive numbers vs AOA.
Oh, hold the phone! Epsilon+ Aero’s website slaps the exact same downforce numbers on every wing for every car. I’m no Adrian Newey, but—shocker—different car shapes and wing placements might, just maybe, screw with that math. Clearly, they’re tossing out a one-size-fits-all downforce figure based on the wing’s element, not the actual car it’s bolted to. Bravo for the technical loophole, but that’s a teensy bit deceptive, no? Those numbers aren’t gospel for every ride—they’re a lazy blanket claim for gullible gearheads, misleading every keyboard warrior ready to pounce on a forum or Facebook post.
This is why most aftermarket companies dodge specific figures, opting for vague claims instead. For accurate data, you’d need to contact the manufacturer or run CFD, wind tunnel, or track testing—not just for a car model, but for a specific owner’s car. Too many variables affect airflow: Is it lowered? Wider wheels? Front canards? Vented hood? Windows open or closed? The list goes on.
See below I have selected 6 completely different cars yet their site all shows the same figures. Even the universal one!
Here’s how to calculate the downforce a wing generates:
Downforce = ½ρ × A × Cl × V²
If that looks like gibberish and makes your brain want to shut down, don’t worry—stick with me. If it’s crystal clear, you’re probably here to troll me, but let’s see if I can impress you anyway.
Let’s break it down:
- ½ρ (air density): This measures how thick the air is. We’ll use 0.002377 slug/ft³, standard at sea level. It varies with altitude or weather, but don’t sweat it—0.002377 works fine. The formula uses half of ρ: 0.5 × 0.002377 = 0.001189.
- A (area): The wing’s surface area in square feet. Take Marlon’s Epsilon+ Aero wing, which we installed. It’s about 6 square feet, measuring 66 inches long by 14 inches wide at the center, tapering to 12 inches at the edges. A rough calculation (66 × 14 ÷ 144 = 6.42 square feet) assumes constant width, so we use 6 square feet to account for the taper.
- Cl (coefficient of lift): This shows how well the wing turns airflow into downforce, based on its shape and angle. For simplicity, let’s use Cl = 1.0—a solid estimate, though high-end wings can hit Cl = 2.0 or more.
- V² (velocity squared): Your speed in feet per second, squared. Convert mph to ft/s by multiplying by 1.467. For example, 60 mph × 1.467 = 88.02 ft/s, so 88.02² = 7,747.52. At 80 mph, 80 × 1.467 = 117.36 ft/s, so 117.36² ≈ 13,773.
Let’s run the numbers for the Epsilon+ wing. First, the constant: ½ρ × A × Cl = 0.001189 × 6 × 1 = 0.007131. Now, calculate downforce:
- At 60 mph: 0.007131 × 7,747.52 ≈ 55 lbs.
- At 80 mph: 0.007131 × 13,773 ≈ 98 lbs.
But here’s the catch: Epsilon+ claims their wing produces 52 lbs. at 80 mph at zero degrees AoA, not 98 lbs. Recalculating with Cl = 0.5: 0.001189 × 6 × 0.5 = 0.0035655, then 0.0035655 × 13,773 ≈ 49 lbs. That’s close to their 52 lbs., so Cl = 0.5 is likely more accurate for their wing. All of my calculations are done with the wing at zero degrees AoA for consistency.
Some wings can achieve a Cl above 2.0, doubling downforce, but countless factors shape performance—like hardtop vs. convertible, fastback vs. hatchback, or aftermarket roofline designs and the obvious, wing size and height. If this feels overwhelming, you’re not alone. It took me longer than I’d care to admit to comprehend these calculations, running them forward and backward feverishly geeking out over equations like a math Olympian on a Red Bull binge to fully understand each step.
Why does this matter? Aftermarket aero companies rarely share hard data, tossing out vague claims to hype their products and lure enthusiasts into buying wings for looks rather than performance. As I’ve said before, this highlights a bigger issue: the lack of education among enthusiasts and misleading marketing that flashy ads exploit. For accurate numbers, you’d need CFD simulations, track tests, or wind tunnels for specific cars—resources most of us don’t have. If you’re serious about aero’s performance benefits, don’t fall for the hype. Use the downforce formula to estimate what a wing does for your car, and research thoroughly to find what works for your specific model with similar supporting mods. Knowledge is your edge on the track, and the right wing can transform your game—but only if you understand what you’re buying.
Does Your BRZ Need a Big Wing?
To answer the question: No, your BRZ doesn’t need a big wing unless you’re competing in GTA, SLB, WTAC Unlimited/pro/GT-X class. For most of us, adding aftermarket aero is more about desire than necessity. Let’s be honest—bolting on parts is fun. It scratches an itch, feeds our addiction to tinkering, and makes our cars look badass. But deep down, we know we could’ve spent more time honing our driving skills—our “driver mod”—and gotten the same or better results on the track.
Why do we do it? Two reasons:
- Working on our cars is a blast, plain and simple.
- It’s even more fun when you’re slapping on extreme parts that turn heads.
No shame in that. It’s easier to get compliments on a sick-looking car than to earn respect for a killer lap time. A car decked out with all the buzzword mods—big wings, diffusers, splitters, wide fenders, you name it—screams “cool” to most people. They don’t question your skills or lap times; they just see the vibe and assume you’re legit. The problem is, the average person doesn’t know what a “good” lap time is, let alone how to judge one. They don’t realize that a fast lap on RS4s or RT615Ks is a bigger flex than one on grippy A052s, where the tires might be doing the heavy lifting for your driving. And they certainly don’t know that you don’t really need a big wing to be fast or even faster than a car with a big wing.
So, next time you’re eyeing that massive wing, ask yourself: Am I chasing lap times or likes? Either way, enjoy the ride—just know the driver mod is where the real gains are.
You’ll notice Marlon’s car has zero front aero mods, so slapping on that huge rear wing probably hurt his performance by throwing the car’s balance way off. That’s why we set the wing to the least aggressive angle of attack (AoA). According to Epsilon+, that’s only adding about 50 lb of downforce—hardly worth the trade-offs, especially after you consider I ruined his trunk, and basically his car is a salvaged title now.
More downforce in the rear without front aero to match just amps up understeer when exiting turns. In a BRZ especially, which relies on momentum due to its modest power (around 210 whp stock), early throttle application is critical for carrying speed onto straights. If understeer delays this, overall lap times can suffer. Sure, it might keep things stable in a high-speed sweeper, but the time you gain in one or two fast corners won’t make up for what you lose by not getting on the gas early enough elsewhere. Aero isn’t just “bolt on and win.” Like anything, too much of it screws you over. Here’s why:
- Drag: That wing slows your top speed, killing time on straights. And with a low power car this hurts more.
- Suspension Stress: Extra downforce can push your suspension past its sweet spot, making it ride the bump stops instead of soaking up the track.
- Balance: Without front aero, your car’s nose lifts while the rear plants, and good luck rotating then.
And here’s the kicker: chasing aero sends you down a pricey rabbit hole. To make that wing work, you’ll need:
- More power to beat the drag (think power adders, engine swap, and/or tune, $1,500-$7,000).
- Stiffer suspension to handle the extra load (coilovers, $1,500-$7,000).
- Front aero to balance things out (splitter or canards, $1,000-$3,000).
Add it up, and you’re dropping $4,000-$17,000 just to fix what the wing broke. If you don’t know chassis dynamics well enough to weigh these trade-offs, aero might not be your thing yet. It’s not about looking like a race car—it’s about going faster. Learn your car first, and save yourself a wrecked trunk and an even bigger bill.
Marlon, like most of us, started out just wanting a duckbill spoiler or a small aftermarket wing for aesthetics. But then he applied that classic enthusiast logic: if a small wing costs ~$1,000, why not spend ~$1,000 more for a legit, adjustable track wing and grow into it? After all, he was already dropping a grand—what’s another thousand? The old “buy once, cry once” adage. Marlon gets that the big wing might mess with his car’s handling, though. He hasn’t hit the track yet to confirm worries about understeer or slower top speeds, but we’ve got a plan: if it’s too much, we’ll unbolt the wing element, keep the stands, and figure it out from there.
You might wonder why I’m sharing this seemingly contradictory story. Well, Marlon’s my good friend, and even if he doesn’t always take my advice, I love that he’s passionate about modifying his car. It’s a win-win for me: I get to expand my knowledge on new platforms, get hands-on with real-world installs, and create content for the blog. Sure, Marlon didn’t need that big wing (and you probably don’t either), but sometimes you learn by doing. Unfortunately, this lesson’s already cost him $2,100—and it might take a few more bucks to balance out that wing’s impact.
Overall Review of the Wing:
For a sub-$2,000 wing, this one’s about what you’d expect. The stands and mounting brackets are custom-designed in-house, but the wing element itself is likely a standard part from a third-party supplier. That’s not a bad thing—smaller companies often work this way since building their own wing molds is crazy expensive. Their website even suggests as much:
Stocked wing elements? That screams easily accessible and third-party sourcing. The 3-4 week wait for custom mounts also raises an eyebrow—if they’re crafting those parts themselves, shouldn’t it be quicker? It seems they focus on designing the stands and brackets in-house but outsource the tooling and production. Still, for the price, it’s a solid setup, perfect for someone like Marlon dipping their toes into serious aero mods.
This wing mounts to the car very solid—no wobbling at speed, probably because the brackets are decently engineered. But for under two grand, don’t expect miracles. They cut corners by leaving the wing element raw, no clear coat, which is a joke if your car lives outside. UV rays will chew up that virgin carbon fiber faster than you can say “bad decision.” Get it clear-coated before install, or you’re screwed.
Then there’s the welds on the wings mounting brackets—functional, sure, but they look like hot garbage. After machining those fancy scalloped wing stands, slapping on Temu welds is just lazy. Sorry, not sorry. I don’t care if it’s a race car—when I’m dropping this kinda cash, I want every inch to scream quality, not “we gave up here.”
The install? A total nightmare. The trunk mounting bracketry is so stupidly intricate, your average DIYer’s gonna botch it. You’re almost guaranteed to misalign it or straight-up mangle your BRZ or GR86’s trunk. Yeah, the wing still “functions as it should,” but good luck staring at that irreversible damage and not regretting your life choices. They made it sturdy, sure, but also a pain in the ass to fit right. Worth mentioning? Hell yeah, because you’ll be pounding your head against the wall wondering why you bothered.
With a wing element this big, crank the AoA to eleven, and it’ll probably churn out some legit downforce—if you’re actually hitting the track. But if you’re just some average enthusiast chasing racecar vibes without the mods to back it up? This thing’s gonna leave a sour taste in your mouth and finger you as a poser. Like Marlon’s $2,100 gamble, it’s a pricey lesson that yells “buy once, cry once” when you realize you’re in over your head.
Final Thoughts:
Save your cash and skip the rabbit hole of pricey mods that follows a big wing. Just enjoy your car as it is. Want to spice it up? Grab a carbon ducktail spoiler, a lip kit, or some slick carbon accents. If you’re itching to blow serious money, go for a vented carbon hood—at least it’ll cool your engine and shave some weight. Poor Marlon’s still catching flak for buying that massive wing, forever the butt of our snarky jabs about over-the-top mods. Learn from his mistake: don’t let zeal turn your ride into a punchline.
So many people hit the track for a few days, struggle to set a decent personal best (PB), and point the finger at anything but their driving skills. It’s never them—it’s the car, the tires, or some cosmic injustice. So, they channel that frustration into a plan to kill two birds with one stone: “I’ll buy some aero! It’ll help me crush my PB and make me look like a bona fide badass.” They want everyone at the track to see their winged ride and think, “Hot damn, that guy is a fast boi!” But let’s be real: most of the time, they’re only embarrassing themselves. That shiny aero kit might shave a few tenths off their time—or, if they’re lucky, a second—but they’re nowhere near skilled enough to exploit its full potential. What a mockery of all things aerodynamic.
This obsession with aero often starts with desensitization. You watch someone like Mat Armstrong bolt a Manthey Racing kit onto his 992 GT3 RS and rave about how much better the car feels. He might even claim he could outpace an F1 driver in a low-aero car. And suddenly, enthusiasts everywhere think, “If Mat’s car is faster with aero, I can justify bolting some on mine!” Hold on, though—I’ve got news for you. There’s a reason we’re seeing an explosion of companies jumping into the aero game, peddling “economical aero” for your mass-produced sports car. But don’t kid yourself: your budget wing isn’t in the same league as Manthey Racing’s. They’ve got exponential resources, access to one of the best proving grounds in the world, and enough data to fill a library. Hell, they could lose a few books of that data and still mop the floor with your setup. Olaf Manthey’s been at this longer than most of your parents have been alive.
Save the aero for when you’re really serious about the craft. Until then, don’t let it become a crutch to mask your driving flaws or boost your ego. Real enthusiasts can spot the difference a mile away—you’re only fooling those who don’t know better. As the saying goes, “the loudest are the first to go.” The fake enthusiasts, the ones ranting on social media with big follower counts, shouting about this mod or that kit? They’re usually gone in a year or two. Meanwhile, the quiet ones—we’re just here enjoying our hobby. We’re not chasing money, popularity, coolness, or glory. We’re driving Hondas and Toyotas around desolate strips of pavement in the least glamorous places on earth. There’s nothing cool about that, and no one should brag about it. But that’s what makes it real. Keep your focus on driving, not the show, and the track will reward you.
Look, I know I rant like a lunatic sometimes, but I’ve got a ton of passion about this. My heart’s in the right place—I’m just trying to set you straight so you don’t get suckered by bullshit influencers who wouldn’t know a track from a parking lot. If you’re new to the track scene and your interest is legit, that’s freaking awesome. I just want you armed with the right knowledge, not some glossy nonsense. You want to roll up in a flashy car? Hell yeah, go for it! But know what’s good and what’s lame first.
It’s like fashion—wearing white after Labor Day is a big middle finger to the “rules,” but you gotta know you’re breaking ‘em. Some poor newbie out there is stoked about track life but screwing it up because they’re fed TikTok clowns instead of real-deal enthusiasts. Social media algorithms are screwing them over, and I hate it. I want you to get it right, soak up the real knowledge, and tear it up on the track with cred, not cringe.
As the Dalai Lama says, “Know the rules well, so you can break them effectively.”
Thank you so much for reading my perspective—it’s opinionated and subjective, but it comes from a good place. I struggle to get my thoughts onto paper without sounding like I think I know it all, and I hope that doesn’t come across as arrogant. My goal is to share what I’ve learned so you can make informed choices. If you still want that big wing after reading this, that’s okay—I’m just glad you’re making a purposeful decision, not just following trends. I’d love to hear your thoughts, whether they’re positive, critical, or something else. Reach out via email at Billy@Functiontheory.com, Instagram @Functiontheory, or comment below, and I’ll respond.